


The Five Times They Smoked Together, and the One Time Q Smoked Alone

by Abbytheweird



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: All the things pretty much, Angst and Humor, M/M, Mentions of sex but no actual smut sorry guys, Or I'm not sorry, Romance, Smoking, either one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbytheweird/pseuds/Abbytheweird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is a smoker in various situations, and so is Bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Times They Smoked Together, and the One Time Q Smoked Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I actually came up with this whilst massively craving a cigarette. I only found the care bones of it in my iPod notes because my Eva (Thesoulofastrawberry- check her out for Sherlock and Cabin Pressure) and I were going through the contents of our iPods, so I typed this up whilst waiting for my father to show up. Enjoy.

Q was insurmountably bored. Not that he was to blame for it, though he felt he'd made a terrible choice in agreeing to meet with Moneypenny. She had gotten called away by M-as she so often did-and she was, as such, not available at last minute. So Q found himself sitting on the roof of HQ with nothing to do other that smoke his way through a pack of Chesterfield. He prayed for something to alleviate his boredom as he lit up his tenth. He had completely no work to do; hence why he had agreed to go for drinks with Moneypenny. He idly flicked through apps on his (heavily jail broken) iPhone for something to do, and grudgingly accepted that no amount of Temple Run or crosswords were going to do anything other than frustrate him. He sighed deeply and started on his eleventh.

"American cigarettes, Q?" The Quartermaster choked on a lungful of smoke and nearly dropped the offending item over the barrier he had leaned against as he jumped in surprise. He hadn't even heard double-0-bloody-seven coming up behind him. Sodding field agents.

"Yes, and the problem with that is what, exactly?" he demanded, chin tilted up in a defiant attempt for more height.

"They taste horrible, you have more than enough in your salary to pay for a nicer brand, and they're American. Besides cars, what have Americans ever produced that are decent?" Q didn't point out that condensed milk was an American invention, and lovely, thank you very much.

"I don't see why what I smoke matters to you, Bond," he huffed, lighting up another.

"Whilst I'm here it'll bother me," the agent pointed out, wrinkling his nose. The only times he smoked Chesterfield were whilst he was in The States and attempting to work undercover-back in the days when they threw him into all manner of disguises. He thought to Mr Big, his own hair dyed black and cut close to his temples. He had been instructed to sleep naked, too, 'here in the states we sleep in the buff, Mr Bond,' he had been told, much to his annoyance. Sleeping nude was for when someone else was nude next to him.

"No one asked you to be here. Why are you here, anyway?" Q asked, blowing his smoke directly at Bond's face, just out of spite.

"Surely, Q, that much should be obvious; you're up here." Q's brows arched at that response, smirking as Bond wafted away the smoke.

"And why is that motivation for you to be here?"

"Because I'd wager I'm almost as bored as you are." Q had to concede that was fair enough. Field agents had little to do other than sit in their offices working through paperwork of varying importance, and practice no small amount of ways to cheat at cards. He'd seen Bond make cards jump around the deck without any effort at all, it seemed, and it was very impressive-not that Q would ever say so.

"So you decided to pick apart your Quartermaster's smoking habits?"

"Yes." Bond reached into his suit and produced a box of Gauloises, offering one to Q. "Here, a decent cigarette."

"If I must," Q sighed and chucked the butt of his to the floor, crushing it beneath his shoe. He accepted the French cigarette with his lips, huffing something meant to be a protest as Bond lit it-with a match no less, the relic-for him. He had to admit it blew Chesterfield out of the water. Then again, he was aware most brands readily available in the UK did. He had his reasons for it being his brand of choice, and as he sucked in another lungful, he became painfully aware of it.

"Now, I am under the impression that a certain Miss Moneypenny has stood you up," Bond mentioned as idly as he could manage. That being very idle indeed, Q noticed. The Quartermaster shook his head repeatedly and blew out a ring of smoke above his head.

"It was not a date, Bond. She's happily seeing Miss Goodnight-ah, but that's strictly to be kept to yourself, 007, or Eve will do far worse to me than shoot me off a train," Q interjected as Bond's brows met his hair line.

"Well, that explains China." It was Q's turn to raise a brow, but supposed it had something to do with Eve's refusal to sleep with the agent.

"Ah, yes, because only straight men and gay women are going to turn you down, Mr Bond, and it's impossible that someone could be not interested in you." Bond's eyes glinted a little as though Q's words were a challenge.

"Of course it's impossible," the agent replied with a grin that had, undoubtedly, lured many an innocent into his far-from-innocent clutches and bed. Or shower, if rumours held true. Q just sighed in response, perhaps muttering some poorly constructed retort of 'you're impossible', his wit diminished somewhat by the ridiculous amount of nicotine in his system. Bond chuckled, but said no more, easing the two into companionable silence that the younger had not expected to feel comfortable in.

Time-and cigarettes-passed without much notice from either man, both distracted by the hustle and bustle of London below, soundless from where they stood.

"So," said Bond, once again with an idle tone that made the hairs on the back of the Quartermaster's neck rise in apprehension. "If not Moneypenny, who are you seeing?" Q snorted at the question and shook his head.

"No one, Bond. It's not easy to hold down a successful relationship when working here. Especially not when one is required to monitor missions all hours of the day." Q's tone was far from whining. His past relationship failures were nothing in comparison to the agent's, and Q knew that well. "I did try, but it was too much to ask of him, and in the end, I don't think either of us were in love any more." If Bond was surprised by the 'him', he did not show it, not even remotely.

"My apologies."

"It's hardly your fault. I took this job, and I live for it, more than I live for anything or anyone else. It is my own fault, really." Q dismissed any more  conversation on the topic with an idle wave of his hand before raising it to his mouth to take another drag on the Gauloise. Bond did not comment on Q's mildly unhappy expression.

"I suppose," the agent began, tapping his finger on his cigarette to flick away ash, "that it's no easier for anyone else working in this place." Q considered it.

"I suppose not, but it's better that way. If our number one love is not both Queen and Country, we're something of a danger to ourselves as an organisation." Orphans were far more common than Q had realised, but very few employees of MI6 had living parents, and even fewer had what could be considered anything that resembled a loving relationship with them. Q didn't know which was  more tragic. James just nodded and let them slip once more into silence, allowing them to both reflect on the melancholy turn their conversation had taken. The silence was painfully shattered by Q's phone, beeping angrily at him from his pocket. Taking a final drag on his cigarette, Q stomped it out beneath his office-friendly shoe to read his message.

"Bugger," he commented eloquently, and looked up to see 007's face twisted in polite curiosity. "One of my idiot underlings has managed to download a virus, excuse me," Q explained before grabbing his laptop bag and darting back into HQ with speed Bond had never before seen from the Quartermaster. He smiled slightly to himself; the systems were in good, nicotine-yellowed hands.


End file.
